


Please Take Me, Mr. Fell

by IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore



Series: Miss Ashtoreth & Mr. Fell Have a Torrid Affair [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (no actual people are being cheated on in the fic’s reality), AND!, Anyway:, Aziraphale as a Handsome Stranger, Aziraphale has to be way more Top-ish than usual, Crowley as Nanny Ashtoreth, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasies of Infidelity, Fantasy, Knife used for removal of clothing, Lingerie, Nipple Licking, PWP, Roleplay, Sort of a Dom Situation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, admins please make a better tagging system soon i beg you, female!Crowley, i suppose? lol, oh fuck i forgot one of the smut tags and now it's too late, this shit always happens to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 09:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore/pseuds/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley play out a fantasy of theirs.





	Please Take Me, Mr. Fell

A short midday tea-break at the Dowling estate. Crowley sneaked out of the servants’ hall through the back door to get to the garden. ‘Brother Francis’ was ‘hard at work’, leaning on a rake as he watched the plains absentmindedly. Crowley made herself known to him by placing her hand on his shoulder, making the angel turn to her. They exchanged pleasantries in order to keep up their cover. 

Crowley lowered her voice for no-one but themselves. “You remember that scenario we were talking about, angel. The one from last week. That we negotiated.” 

“Oh, yes.” 

Crowley smoothed a hand over Aziraphale’s woolen vest affectionately. “Meet me in the cottage at eight tonight?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes had gone dark. “I’d love to.” 

Nanny had to go back, tea-time was almost over already. Brother Francis watched her go, feeling a small fire start up in his belly. The tulips could wait, he had to go and mentally prepare himself now. 

\- 

It was dark out already on such an early autumn night. Aziraphale was collecting himself outside the door of the cottage and when he was done and felt at ease, he knocked. 

The door opened more or less immediately. Crowley had been ready to spring. 

“Oh — you really came.” Crowley answered in her newly adopted soft brogue. She was in her professional outfit, though she had taken off her hat, sunglasses, ribbon, tweed jacket, and gloves. The heeled boots stayed on indoors, though, all to Aziraphale’s delight. There was something those boots did to him. 

“I couldn’t resist, Mrs. Ashtoreth...” Aziraphale was in his regular off-work outfit, albeit more dressed down, with no bowtie or vest, and the collar unbuttoned not one, not two, but _three_ buttons. _Very daring for you, angel,_ Crowley thought as she was surprised to see him in such a state. 

Crowley played her demure part, as per the agreement; she stepped aside just enough to let Aziraphale slip beside her so she could close the door. She looked away bashfully as they stood so close in the darkened hallway. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know if this is the right thing to do,” She wrung her hands, touching her golden ring, “I love my Francis very much, you see …" 

Aziraphale stayed cool, for once. “But?” 

“Like I told you in my messages, it’s just — there are things he can’t do for me. And I feel so terribly _guilty_ when having these _thoughts_...” 

“Oh, Mrs. Ashtoreth — there’s no shame in having desires.” Aziraphale separated her hands, taking her wrists gently for now. “You never got to tell me what those desires are. Would you?” 

Crowley feigned her frustration and breathlessness very convincingly for someone usually so collected and with no need for their lungs. She even squirmed a bit with her wrists being in the position they were in, coming free of Aziraphale’s grasp. She wanted to bring her hands to rest at his chest, but her character just couldn’t bring herself to do it just yet. 

“I — I need you to _take_ me.” She whispered, reddening in the low light. 

“I know — but I need you to be a little more specific than that, Mrs. Ashtoreth —” 

“ _Miss_. Call me Miss Ashtoreth. For now.” Crowley’s voice suddenly firmed up. 

It went straight to Aziraphale’s blood. He shielded his arousal for now. “Miss Ashtoreth... Tell me, so I can help you.” 

She leaned in, maddeningly slowly to be cheek to cheek, red lips just atoms away from brushing at his ear. It seemed Miss Ashtoreth had gained some confidence, she put her hands upon the tops of the gentleman’s shoulders, keeping him still as she nearly pressed herself to him.

“I need you to be rough with me. Take me to the bed, strip me down... Kiss me roughly, pull at my hair... I need you to hold me down as you ravish me, Mr. Fell.” 

Her whisper was like an electric current in Aziraphale’s ear. He feared that he was getting more out of this than Crowley was at the moment. And maybe he didn’t have the range after all to play a hard, rogue-ish seducer. _No, no, I can do this,_ Aziraphale collected himself again before taking Crowley by her upper arms and pulling her back enough to look her in the eye, then tease her with the possibility of a kiss already. He leaned in but stopped rock-still before she could close the distance. Crowley whimpered, looking in his eyes for an explanation. 

“Go to the bed, then.” He ordered, not a tremor in his voice despite Aziraphale’s internal quivering. He let go of her arms. Crowley's eyes looked at him wildly, then away so she could walk in front of him to the bedroom. 

He stopped her before the bed itself, a hand on her shoulder, as he stood directly behind her. Aziraphale pressed himself to her back, putting his lips close to the shell of her ear as payback for earlier. He tried not to let Crowley feel his erection as he pressed into her, but it was impossible. 

His hands went around and up to the buttons of her blouse to undo them. A cheeky kiss was pressed to the top of her throat, catching Crowley off guard. Aziraphale slid the blouse off her, dropping it to the floor, then trailed his hands to the clasp in her outer skirt. Crowley had no idea what to do with her hands, they resorted to wringing themselves again, fussing with the fake wedding ring, while she tightly pressed her lips together in anticipation. 

Aziraphale pulled the skirts off her in one go, letting them flutter down so that Crowley had the opportunity of stepping out of them. She awaited his orders before doing so, though. Aziraphale took a step back. “Turn for me.” 

Crowley obeyed, then watched as he kneeled to unlace her boots, helping her pull her stockinged feet from the shoe. He caught one sheer black stockinged foot to hold in his hands, tracing the curve of the heel up a calf. Up the thigh, Aziraphale’s hand met the clasp of a garter which he didn’t unleash, no, he had other plans. Fingertips glided over it, ignoring the black laced undergarment in order to stay at Crowley’s mid as Aziraphale pulled himself up to his feet. He narrowly avoided losing his balance, he was so caught up in the moment. 

“So beautiful — you are so breathtaking...” A little bit of Aziraphale himself came through in a moment of weakness, then was packed away, “Your husband is a fool for mistreating you, neglecting you in your time of need.” 

Crowley was trying her best not to directly sink her teeth into her lip but it was the only way she could stifle herself. Her voice was extraordinarily meek, “He’s a good man —” 

“No good man leaves his wife in such distress.” Aziraphale decided to press closer, his shirtfront to Crowley’s full brassiere. Their noses were touching, then no more as finally Crowley could kiss him. She was hungry, reaching around to push Aziraphale by his hair, other hand slung around his shoulders to press him closer. He broke away as if offended by her kiss, roughly handling her shoulders; he was back in character. “Lie down.” He discreetly licked his lips, knowing full well that the lipstick had transferred, the sight of Crowley’s smudged mouth a wonder. 

That mouth was slightly agape as she sat on the covers before sliding down to stretch her entire body on the bed. By the knees, Aziraphale’s hand parted her legs to each side. He decided to take his time unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, then his trousers and everything else, folding it all neatly while Crowley laid there, the anticipation thickening. 

Aziraphale finally crawled up on the bed on his knees, settling down to be faced with those garters again: he traced the stocking once more, but stopped this time at Crowley’s lovely undergarment so that he could caress the erect clit through the thin fabric. The lips had a definite outline as well, which he felt, rubbing lightly, painfully lightly, over the mound of Crowley, who was making little whining noises already. She had taken to holding onto the metal filigree headboard, twining her fingers in it and curling her toes around nothing. 

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale muttered before placing his mouth to the fabric, feeling Crowley’s cunt twitch under him. His tongue wetted the fabric, teasingly trying to enter through the barrier and licking along the length of her lips. Crowley gripped the headboard harder. 

“Mr. Fell —” 

“Yes?” 

“Please — Please...” 

“Please what?” 

“Take them off, _please_ —” 

Aziraphale got back up on his knees. Although they had an agreement to not use their powers, he pulled a concealed pocket-knife from thin air, flicking it open as Crowley inhaled sharply at the sight. Though rough, he was careful not to damage the garter belt as he cut the panties enough to pull them off in one go while Crowley made hopeless noises. She was so unbearably wet already, mostly from thinking about him ever since tea-time. It was incredibly thrilling for her to be at Aziraphale’s mercy in their little play. The knife went flying to a corner of the room, vanishing before it hit the ground. 

“I need your fingers, your mouth — please,” She whined. “Mr. Fell...” 

_Oh, that’s —_ Aziraphale didn’t finish his thought, because there were no words for how it made him feel to hear Crowley call him ‘Mr. Fell’ again and again. He remembered how naked he was, his weeping erection so horribly close to Crowley but — not yet. 

He dove down to immediately feel Crowley’s unclothed clit on his finger, pressing it in a quickened movement, replacing his fingers with his tongue as he got Crowley to suck a breath in, her body tensing under him. Her curled toes dug themselves into Aziraphale’s shoulder blades.

Even more so as he slid two fingers into Crowley, in and out steadily while he tasted her. Crowley would’ve sworn loudly and repeatedly if she wasn’t playing Miss Ashtoreth tonight. She instead kept panting, whimpering as he sucked her in, played with her, teased her. He drank from her, Aziraphale feeling higher than ever at the sensation of Crowley, the essence of her on his tongue, he licked with determination and fucked her with his fingers as Crowley was full-on moaning, openmouthed. 

And that was the best time to stop; he pulled away, coming up again on his knees to face a frustrated-looking Crowley. Aziraphale considered manifesting another knife to remove the brassiere, but decided against it, instead pulling Crowley up by the shoulders to undo the clasp between her shoulder-blades(although he did have to use a bit of magic to undo it on the first go). 

In the same wild moment, he realized he hadn’t yet properly fulfilled some of his promises to Miss Ashtoreth. While keeping her by the shoulders, Aziraphale crashed his mouth to hers for a kiss. She once again slung her hands around him to pull closer and to feverishly taste everything of hers on his tongue. He reached to her hair, trying to get at the clasp which still held her together, unclasping it to let locks fall down, though not far, as Aziraphale grasped a handful in his fist. She made a sharp, choked noise because of that, being pulled away by him then pushed into the sheets again. 

Aziraphale nudged Crowley’s legs over him again, opening her up to him, his erection pressed hopelessly to her inner thigh before he guided himself inside. There was that indescribable first rush both felt at either filling or being filled, making both moan in a sort of relief. Aziraphale looked Crowley properly in the eyes, the wild, open, yellow eyes blinking barely but always looking at him. He kissed her again, though not so much as Mr. Fell kissing Miss Ashtoreth, but as Aziraphale would kiss Crowley, pressing, needing, wetly and hot, a kiss which made his cock twitch inside her, and which muffled her moans. 

He broke away only to get to what he had set out to do; Aziraphale trailed down to kiss at her sun-freckled breasts, earning a hand in his hair as he kissed at and lapped at each nipple, all while thrusting. His hands felt her up as she shivered to him, legs wrapping tighter around him, fittingly constricting as a snake would do. 

Aziraphale was so caught up in the euphoria of having Crowley’s nipples in his mouth that he forgot his role, forgot to be rough as he promised, so he decided to speed his movement up to appease Crowley’s whimpering. The delightful, lecherous sound of heavy breathing and skin to skin filled the room. 

“Was this how you imagined it, Miss Ashtoreth?” Aziraphale whispered in a breath. 

Crowley almost didn’t respond with words, her moans were enough. “Yes! Yes, Mr. Fell, yes, _please_ —” she tightened around him. 

“Your husband can’t give you this, can he?” 

“No — no, he can’t, Mr. Fell — only you, only —” Crowley trailed off, her body too preoccupied to keep up with her mind at the moment. 

In a quick decision, Aziraphale pulled out entirely to take Crowley by the hips and turn her around, pulling her up to align with his cock again. This time, Aziraphale had better access to rubbing frantic circles into her clit, getting a scream out of Crowley as he kept his pace. His other hand went up to cup one of her breasts, pinching the nipple in his wildness, kissing into her neck, wishing he had more hands to pull her hair and more mouths to kiss her lips as well, but finding that it worked for now to just take Crowley as she had asked of him. 

She was spasming more frequently around him, her moans turned to yells, Aziraphale could feel how desperately Crowley wished to curse and swear but restrained herself for the sake of their charade, coming in a series of cries instead, her cunt squeezing Aziraphale while he kept going, fucking her through her spasms and letting himself release at last. Aziraphale let out all the moans he had more or less kept in, exhaling greatly while burying deeper. 

Not moving from her, he collapsed onto Crowley, pressing her fully into the sheet with his weight because he knew Crowley could take it, unlike Miss Ashtoreth. The panting died down, Aziraphale withdrew to lie back. Crowley turned to face him with a smile, and Aziraphale rolled over so they were both on their sides for now, all sprawled out. 

Even with her hair in a tangled disarray and makeup smudged, Crowley retained a sort of quiet, but humble, dignity about her. “Angel — you were so good...” 

“Aw, thank you.” 

“I meant your acting. Or, especially your acting. Really gave Kempe a run for his money. I always knew you were a born actor, but that was —” Crowley whistled one note softly. 

Aziraphale decided to blush now, of all times. “Stop it.” He smiled. 

“I’m just saying, you’d make a convincing tempter… I could put a good word in for you Below." Crowley teased. 

“... Stop it.” 

“And I might as well say this, also; Kempe was never as good in the boudoir as you.” 

“Stop it!” 

Crowley kissed another faded lipstick mark onto Aziraphale’s wrist. “I almost felt bad for Francis.” She fiddled with the wedding ring which had still stayed on the whole time. 

“He’s not real, Crowley.” 

  
“Yeah, I know! But if he was, I would find it in my demonic heart to feel bad for him.” She grinned as she finally struggled out of her garters. 

Aziraphale hummed a note in thoughtfulness. “Honestly, me too... Dreadful sin, unfaithfulness. If it weren’t a mere fantasy of ours, you know I never would’ve agreed.” He looked at Crowley pointedly, being actually serious before his look went soft again. “Poor Francis... Only a humble gardener with a wicked wife who has access to Tinder.” 

Crowley scrunched up her nose. “Have you made him a backstory?” 

“N — No. Not a lot. Just the essentials.” It was a wonder to see an angel lie. 

“I hadn’t even thought about why he’s mistreating the hapless Mrs. Ashtoreth.” 

“Oh, I thought perhaps he is too _buried_ in his work to pay attention to her.” 

A moment passed as Crowley processed that sentence. 

“... Did you just make a pun?” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips guiltily. Crowley reached for a pillow to thump him with playfully. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inside me, there are two wolves. 
> 
> One wolf wants only to see the Ineffable Husbands be ace with the shipping pancakes being fluffy as FUCK. 
> 
> The other wolf wants pseudo-kinky shit like this. 
> 
> The wolves are fighting. 
> 
> Yet they have one thing in common: they are both Extremely Queer, like me. 
> 
> They make a truce. Once in a while, I know I will be writing the ace domestic cottage fics that I love, and other times I will be writing the smutty roleplaying fics that I also love. The love is evident. Everyone is happy. The wolves are holding hands(paws?). 
> 
> And for those wondering: Kempe was a Shakespearean actor. Like, an OG Shakespearean actor, lots of roles in the plays were literally written for him. I read a fic where Crowley and Aziraphale talk about him in a familiar tone and it delighted me to think that they knew him. 
> 
> Anyhoo: leave a comment if you wanna tell me what you think ! I love a comment.


End file.
